


What Were You Thinking?

by furloughday



Category: Merlin (BBC) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furloughday/pseuds/furloughday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written for this kmm prompt <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/10136.html?thread=7427480#t7427480">here</a>: RPF, Bradley/Colin, Colin/Other, Fancy dress party, Colin and one of his mates flirt like hell. Bradley is jealous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Were You Thinking?

It's 3pm and they are running late.

Bradley usually is, despite all appearances, on time - It's Colin who messes about, doing who knows what. Colin is the one who is always changing his clothing or going to brush his teeth an extra time, because he's forgotten to floss and everyone knows you can't floss without brushing your teeth, and you can't meet up with friends without flossing first. Bradley's spent enough time in Colin's room at their hotel in France to observe this, to witness the dawdling first-hand, and now, here in Bradley's own flat in London, it is no different.

They're going to an autograph signing. Not much is expected of them, they really just need to show up, dressed down, to greet their fans and scribble on glossy prints of themselves. Before events Bradley spends some time on his appearance, but it's all pretty easy, easy enough to put on his clothing and comb his hair and make sure that he smells alright, so he can never quite figure out what it is that keeps Colin in the bathroom for so long, the door cracked, or even when he wanders around Bradley's flat and Bradley tries to watch him, to figure out what it is that he spends so much time on.

In any case, Bradley just ends up on the couch, on the phone with Katie McGrath, while his co-star stands around in the bathroom, from the sound of it, just moving things from one side of the sink to the other.

"That mess is getting out of hand," Katie says.

Bradley clears a space on the coffee table and lifts a shirt from where it is pooled. No pen.

"You're not even here," he says into the receiver. "How could you possibly know that?"

Katie laughs. "Well, Colin's still there, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he is."

"You wouldn't expect it, but he wrecked my flat that time I had him over last year. Two days and it was food everywhere and socks in the fridge."

Even now, there are books with pages dog-eared scattered about the flat, a half-eaten orange with the skin peeled back just a bit, as if someone had planned to leave it unfinished, and bottle tops. Bradley finally finds a pen under the sofa. Colin casually appears in room, drying his hair with a towel the color of butter.

That's what it is, maybe: where Bradley's all quick to jump from one thing to the next, Colin is methodical, slow, detail-oriented, somehow leaving a trail of wreckage wherever he goes.

Bradley looks him over, from elbow to knee. He mutters into the phone: "Socks in the fridge, huh?"

"I'm just warning you." Katie's voice sounds far off and he watches as Colin drapes the towel over a chair back. "Anyway, I'll see the two of you at the bookshop. You've still got an hour. Get a move on."

"Nice shirt," Colin says as Bradley closes his mobile. He holds up a shirt with the image of an angry dog on it.

"I though it was yours," Bradley says to this. Colin gives him a skeptical look and then examines the t-shirt like it's the first time he's seen it. One can never tell if he is being serious.

~

They're on their way to the signing.

After ten more minutes of messing about, Bradley had taken Colin by the arm and said rather plainly, "You're slow, Morgan. We're leaving now." and dragged him from the flat and down the hall. They'd rough-housed down three flights of stairs and all the way to the tube. Colin swiped an Oyster card he'd finally bought after so many visits to the city as Bradley grinned at him from the opposite side of the turnstile.

Bradley doesn't even remember the journey, really, he's that distracted by Colin Morgan. They finally make it into daylight with twenty minutes to spare, and it's a miracle, it's a godsend, not being taxed to sprint the entire way to the bookshop. They use the extra time to walk to the signing rather than hailing a cab.

They make their way along the river. They stalk forward at a near jog and huddle in on themselves in the crisp breeze at intervals; Bradley's always surprised at the cold in the springtime, thrilled by it. He finds it invigorating.

They are having a running conversation about football, and also poker strategies although neither of them gamble, and Colin's mother is thrown in there quite a bit as well. Bradley thinks Colin should stay in London indefinitely, at least for a month, because he is Bradley's favourite person to heckle, more than Angel Coulby, more than his uni friends.

Colin is very seriously saying, "Liverpool, Bradley. I don't know if you're fully listening, _Liver_. _Pool_."

It's always like this with Colin. He is perhaps the most captivating person Bradley has ever met, however he hesitates to admit it. The change in pace when he arrives, for one, is quite frankly alarming - a conversation, a normal conversation, completely upends in a matter of moments when Colin Morgan enters the scene.

Bradley remembers chiding Angel in the arena one hot day at Pierrefonds, sweating in rivulets in full armor and looking up at her where she sat as Gwen in the grandstand. She mock waved her handkerchief at him, and Tony was grinning over at them, listening to the sun-warmed interplay, and then suddenly Colin was there, bowing his way up, offering Bradley Arthur's sword which he'd brought from the prop-woman. He was laughing with squinted eyes and making some Irish comment that Bradley couldn't quite catch but knew, just knew, that it had them all laughing _against_ him, in a good-natured manner, but suddenly Bradley found himself playing catch-up.

Bradley thinks about this now, thinking he's never been more consistently confused and consistently pleased as when he's merely speed-walking with Colin Morgan, nearly late but not quite, cutting it close.

They cross at Blackfriar's bridge, the wind whipping at their combed hair, and Colin tries to take Bradley's scarf. Bradley gives it freely, but then takes it back after Colin nearly loses it off the side. They circle down to see the National Theatre. Colin's just auditioned for a play there, and Bradley's more proud than impressed, which is confusing, like Colin's his and he wants him to do well for himself.

All manner of people are in motion there, at least half of them doing some sort of exercise: walkers with their iPods, joggers with their iPods. The rest come forward in near solid walls so that Bradley and Colin have to wend their way sideways and diagonally to make any headway, and Bradley finds it disproportionately amusing when Colin is forced to trip around a small child who has emerged suddenly from behind her mother's legs.

Dogs are urging their people forward in throngs and small, knit groups of tourists are holding red umbrellas like poppies to the breeze. It's like a sight-seeing tour, Bradley taking in details he never would have noticed alone. He sees the Tate Modern up ahead and says, "We should go sometime. You like art, don't you Colin?"

"Are you implying I'm not cultured, is that it?" Colin counters, and bumps him with a shoulder.

Bradley thinks about going. They've got time, now that they're done shooting for the season. In museums he is never sure what to do with his hands, worried that he is either too fidgety or too affected, that his poor posture might become apparent when faced with so much art. They'll have to fit it in, whenever Colin visits the city next.

High on oxygen, they arrive at the bookshop. They peer in through the glass, they walk in through the front door.

The tinkling of the bell is lost in the murmur of a pretty decently-sized crowd which has already gathered near the long table at the back. Bradley can see it down the aisle of shelves. He sees that Angel and Katie are seated and speaking to one another, dressed in arty t-shirts. He and Colin are as well - it's become something of a uniform, a safe middle-ground in which to greet the public. The show's successful, but not enough to warrant blazers and nice shoes in public appearances. Tomorrow night, though, Saturday, that's when things will get fancy.

Bradley steps around the sale rack, and goes quickly along the wall, feeling too obvious or heavy in his trainers, trying not to smile too widely. Colin is trailing along behind him in chucks.

There are a few shrieks, a few gasps. Bradley cricks his neck; this is more or less his element, yeah.

There aren't enough people looking at them, yet, to fully appreciate the red shirt Colin has chosen to wear. RED shirt. It makes his skin near translucent, there is no word for it, really, and it makes his thin arms look muscled. Bradley turns to walk backwards for a few moments, long enough to say rather loudly, "Come Colin, must you keep Angel waiting?"

Colin smiles, guileless, as about ten more people jerk in their direction.

They are most of them fans but some bookshop goers are mixed into the mess. When he and Colin go to sit in their fold-up chairs and accept plastic water bottles from the woman who's in charge, most of the crowd is looking their way, even the accidental passerby who just came in to flip through the latest Vogue or Nicholas Sparks book.

Bradley waves to the crowd, to test the waters. There is a sound-reaction like a pebble has just been tossed into a lake. He is all at once flattered, overcome, and aware of the reality of where he is. He turns to say hello to the girls.

The table is between the four of them and their fans. Stacks of pictures are given to him and they make little welcome speeches. Angel does most of this. She has no stage fright whatsoever, and the public thinks she's a mixture of sweet and devious. This is true of course, but heavier on the devious, and she is genuinely the most eloquent of the four. And then they answer questions. So what if Bradley sometimes feels like the admiration is overblown? It's like he's on some sort of scientific panel, a board of chemists set to answer questions about some new medication, and that he is the one who had done the filing and the retrieving of coffee during the whole process. The sword fighting, the choreography. It's all good fun.

The only problem with answering questions is that Bradley is a really honest guy. It's never been a problem before, he just talks. He is sincere when he feels it and jokes as well, so the rise to semi-fame has been a lesson in tact. He's learning to ascribe more weight to his words than he normally would, to deflect questions about his personal life and he is considering maybe deleting his facebook account. One cannot, for example, tell an audience that he thinks Colin is as enticing as a mystery wrapped in a delicious piece of bacon. That would maybe work in casual, unrecorded conversation - maybe - but in the current situation the comment might be considered a little offensive, all dietary preferences considered, and would be blown massively out of proportion.

Saying something he will regret later is the last thing Bradley wants to do. It's something they are all warned about by their agents and co-workers. He knows that Katie finds answering questions nerve-wracking for just this reason.

Angel delivers a few prepared statements about the upcoming series, and a few people ask her questions about Gwen's growth as a character and her relationships with each of the main cast. She is so elegant, and Bradley wants to do something unruly, like push her in a swimming pool or take her out to lunch and then ignore her offers to pay. Too much energy, that's what his teachers had said about him.

Colin talks about Merlin's experience living with magic. Katie discusses Morgana's relationship with her half-sister.

When a fan asks about fashion sense in their version of Camelot, Bradley talks about Colin's Vivienne Westwood boots for just the right amount of time (three sentences) and then segues quite nicely to 'Yes, well, Arthur's got his own sense of fashion, hasn't he? Bangle bracelets and a pendant that he wears round his neck. They only let me keep Arthur's ring, although I'm not sure it's really in style.' Angel gives him a look like What is he talking about? He shuts up.

A girl in the back shouts: "Bradley, where did you get your shirt?" Bradley looks down at his top, the one with the dog on it.

"Well...Cols and I found it in the flat this morning..." Bradley says. "I'm not sure whose it is though."

There is a general snickering and Katie takes a question about her involvement in series three. Colin leans back in his chair.

The signing is nearly an hour and a half, but it's over quickly. Katie and Angel huddle together over framed pictures of themselves they're given, and a tin of home-made biscuits, and some flowers. As always, Bradley and Colin favor speaking with children, signing fake swords and calendar pages, Colin pretend-magicking a small girl's nose, but he has to apologise when she starts to cry.

Bradley takes a picture of he and Colin with someone's disposable camera, smooshing their faces together in an unattractive manner. Colin pushes him away just after, laughing and wiping at his cheek, like he's twelve-years-old and Bradley's got cooties. Bradley tries to pay attention to something else, looking anywhere but Colin and speaking with someone's mother. All and all, it's a fun event.

At four-thirty they wave goodbye and thank people again. It feels like dinnertime, Bradley is quite convinced of this. The four go into the staff room where they are offered tea by a pleased-looking woman, the type who's decided to sell books rather than lend them out at a library - a fine distinction - and Katie and Angel break open the tin. Colin accepts a biscuit and takes a small bite before setting it down in his napkin leaving a crumbly trail down his shirt. Bradley takes three biscuits, putting one fully in his mouth right away, because everyone knows that's the only non-messy way to eat these things.

They've all seen each other the past weekend for a similar signing event, which is the only reason they aren't spending this entire weekend with each other. Bradley has secretly reserved this for he and Colin, for showing him around London and introducing him to his friends.

But it is so good to see them again, these three whom he hadn't put much effort into getting to know, it just happened, like something organic. Working together as closely as they do is akin to summer camp, and afterward the filming is over each year all of them text each other and send ridiculous emails, even if they're all semi-embarrassed at the attachment.

"So, McGrath," Bradley says. He leans back against a shelf. "Bringing anyone to the screening tomorrow evening?"

In a way he is hoping the girls haven't invited dates, because then he won't feel odd not having thought of it until just this weekend while beating Colin at some old Playstation game instead of finishing his toast. In the past Angel has brought people, and Katie once, but he and Colin have both gone alone with minimal fuss, spending most of the evenings on quick banter, fetching drinks for Tony's beautiful girlfriend and, when a bit tips, discussing the play of lights off of Richard Wilson's very bald head.

The viewing of a new episode, especially something as impossible as the beginning of series three, seems personal somehow, like maybe Bradley doesn't want Angel's date to see a close-up of Bradley's teeth that Bradley himself hasn't been shown.

"Well I'm bringing Jonathon," Katie says. She shrugs on a designer jacket as Bradley huffs. "I'm not saying we're dating. Just friends of course, good friends. We've done some charity work together, if you remember."

"Rees," Bradley utters the name of the pasty actor, frowning deeply. "I've only seen him on telly or in that film where he plays tennis and sleeps with Scarlett Johansson, so I suppose I'll have to reserve judgment until I meet him."

"Just because he played a womanizer in the Tudors doesn't mean anything about him in real life," Katie chides.

"He's Irish," Bradley begins. "I don't trust-"

"Oi!" Colin elbows him, and Bradley takes it in stride, saying, "My point exactly...the Irish are a temperamental folk."

"So protective," Angel says, smiling at Katie. They both turn back to him. "I think it's sweet."

Bradley frowns and leans back, arms crossed. He turns his gaze on Angel who starts packing the pictures and other presents into her bag.

"If what the gossip columns say is true…you should be taking me." He does his best to smile winningly.

Angel says, "Brad-lay," in the admonishing tone of hers. "I'm bringing my cousin. I promised him. And if what the internet says is true, Colin should take you."

"Colin should take me?" Bradley says, flicking a look to his right. Colin takes another nibble from his biscuit. "I should take Colin, is what I'm sure you meant to say. And further more-"

"Who's to say I haven't invited someone myself?" Colin says, bland, drinking down more of his tea and then chucking it. Bradley's stomach does a little wibble. He must be very hungry.

"Really, Colin?" Angel and Katie ask, turning on him. He at least looks a bit abashed, maybe, and says, "Just a mate from home, really."

Bradley observes the way Colin shoves his hands in his jean pockets and screws up his mouth, like No I'm not going to say anything more.

Katie giggles. "Come on, who is it? Anyone we know of?"

Colin laughs, his face rouging. "Haven't seen each other in a while but we met up last week by chance in the grocery and one thing sort of led to another, so. I thought I might as well ask, seeing as, you know, it could be fun."

"Am I the only one without a date to this thing?" Bradley asks then, spreading his hands out in some gesture of protest. The other three don't even have the decency to pretend guilt.

"It's not like we won't spend time together," Angel says. "Just because we've brought guests."

"Maybe I should invite my mother," Bradley mutters, and musses his own hair in disgust. The others laugh at him.

"Oh you baby," Katie says. She pulls out her phone.

Colin discards his half-eaten snack. He claps his hands together and says: "Right, well, are we off, Bradley?"

"Yeah, guess so," Bradley says, feeling sort of foolish.

"Do you girls want to join us for drinks and cheps?" Colin asks. "We're meeting some of Bradley's uni friends."

"No, that's fine, we're going to meet up with Katie's parents at a French restaurant," Angel says, waggling her eyebrows.

"How chic," Bradley says. They all laugh.

France is their personal thing, their own world of castles and sunsets and French stuntmen who sometimes take them out into town for authentic dining experiences with three courses and a whole lot of wine. On free evenings they sometimes sit and share a baguette and Desperados, pulling small wheels of cheese apart with their hands down by the river where there's no one there to judge such behaviour. They revel in feeling _gauche_. It is like the whole country was created just for them, even though they've only ever been to Paris and its environs.

The otherworldly feel lingers as they allow themselves to be drawn in close for hugs, and they part ways at the back door, Katie and Angel skipping off with an armful of blooms apiece, and Colin wandering off in the opposite direction, off of the sidewalk smiling secretive back at Bradley. It's that time of year where the soul of the world seems to be at one's fingertips and the sun doesn't set until nine. It feels like the end of something.

He's glad he's thought to invite a couple of mates round the pub. He is a tad ashamed to admit that he has been caught off guard by this date business, that maybe all he wants to do now is corner Colin back in his flat and kiss his neck slowly, maybe feed him tim tams and tea after or before this, so it's a good thing that they're meeting up with people.

Who IS she, Colin's 'mate from back home?' Bradley isn't known to pout, not seriously at least, but this time it's a close thing.

They wander down the road, and Colin brings him out, asking questions about who they're meeting up with, whether or not Bradley thinks Angel's cousin will be underage and should they give him alcohol anyways, etc.

Bradley knows his mates will not only get a kick out of Colin, but they will let Bradley make fun of him. This should be gratifying. They, as his nearest and dearest (although he rarely speaks with them when they're in other countries) will feel the blush of victory right along with him if he manages to render Colin Morgan speechless. Because what are friends for if not to share in the losses and successes? The major and the minor?

He's getting a bit ahead of himself. He and Colin make it to the pub by six, after taking a roundabout walk through a park for no reason at all really, it just sort of happened and wasn't mentioned. A quiet thing.

 

~

Turncoats! By round two, all three of his supposed friends are near face planting with laughter on the sticky bar table, allowing Colin to relate one embarrassing moment after the next.

"What I found so fonny," Colin says. "Was the dey Bradley misinterpreted the scrept, and he thought there was supposed to be some sort of tension between him and Keytie. The director came in finally and said, 'Ye know, Bradley, your character is a flert, but lay off the leering, will you? We can't have the young girls in the audience thinking you're a crazy pairson.' Yeah, we all had a good laugh."

His friends - dead to him - agree. They are obviously won over by the Irish brogue, thicker with drink, and although Bradley does not fault them, he has been insulted and it cannot stand.

"That pretty accurately describes Bradley's game face. He looks like a crazy person."

"So tell us," Josh asks. "Does James here actually do any work, or does he just mess about?"

Colin pretends to be thinking about this, but Bradley knows him too well to be fooled. He can sense the glee simmering under the surface.

Colin swigs his lager, and then says, apologetically: "To be honest, he plays a lot of video games, and generally picks on me. He's kind of a bully."

"Don't listen to a word of it," Bradley tells them. It is time to cut in.

Everyone just picks up their pints and believe every golden syllable that falls from Colin's lips.

"I spend my days, sparring, SWORD fighting -" Bradley says, narrowing his eyes at the group. "You've heard of one of those, have you Colin? A sword? Your character can't even manage to pick one up, let alone fight with it. The delicate art -"

"Oh yeah, whatever," Colin throws back. He is fighting a smile so hard that his lips pucker. "My guy drops branches and, like, kills everyone. With his eyes."

An old argument, but it feels fresh and untried in front of this audience.

"I've got an army, if you've forgotten," Bradley says, waving his hand aimlessly.

"Lightning," Colin says mildly.

Bradley leans in across the table, elbows velcroing to the sticky top. He says, meaningfully: "Uther. Pendragon."

"Oh come on, James," Scott says. Brett confides to Colin: "He never tells us specifics."

They have a really good time. These are good guys, and Bradley doesn't fault them for taking to Colin they way they have. They're explaining their attempts at landing acting jobs, how two need to work in a restaurant in the meantime, and Brett is currently doing his Masters.

"Be glad we don't have to take exams, or find real jobs," Colin says. "We might just end up like your friends here, actually doing something useful."

The way he says "friends" reminds Bradley of this elusive woman once more. A picture of her is beginning to form in his mind. She is some devilish cross of a handful of actresses. She'll have hair like Karen Gillan and a smile like Billie Piper, and a lovely Irish voice, like Cara Dillon. He imagines that Colin will treat her delicately, folding his arm around her like he'd folded the biscuit into the napkin earlier, suddenly transformed into some gentleman that he never is around Bradley. Bradley will probably hardly recognize him, and he will probably have to stave off the despair with glass after glass of Moet. He hates her already.

Bradley finds himself explaining at length the manner in which the women on set fawn over Colin. Perhaps he's had too much, because he could almost swear that Colin is leaning into him far more often than he usually does. When they're alone, Bradley has noticed, it is all shoving and hands on shoulders, but in public Colin tends to keep to himself. It's wishful thinking and this is the moment Bradley realizes he has never been such a sap about anyone. Good grief.

They head back to Bradley's when the pub closes at midnight, flagging down a cab at the corner. One of his friends, Josh, makes a joke about actors being able to afford cab fare and how everyone else has to walk home. Colin tells them sadly that Poor Bradley's received a few concussions in the process and probably doesn't remember where he lives well enough to walk. Colin is an excellent bullshitter and Bradley wants him with a guilty urgency, maybe just because he has perceived some sort of threat. He slaps his friends on the shoulder, wishing them good luck like he won't be seeing them again soon.

"Do you think they wanted to share the cab?" Colin asks, concerned. "Maybe we should ask them?"

Bradley snorts. "They live the next block over. They just enjoy taking the piss, seeing as they're all theatre actors and I'm just on telly."

The driver takes side streets, winding around a bit more than he needs to, but Bradley doesn't call him on it. When they arrive at the flat Bradley hasn't had time to gesture to the sofa before Colin is handing him a glass of water and is sitting down at the coffee table, telling him to 'sit down, you're going to fall asleep where you stand,' but Bradley just brings him a large blanket and says, "Well, goodnight." Colin smiles at him like they're sharing some joke between them, but maybe Bradley is just reading into things.

~

Bradley wakes up at 11am the next morning, but the quiet from the living room causes him to stay in his bedroom for a few hours and get work done. By 'work' he means doing some crunches to maintain his four pack and writing emails to his agent who wants him to do a Vodaphone ad, and by 'done' he means half-assing both while he watches 30 Rock on his laptop. Also musing about Colin, who is sleeping in his living room and whom he will never really comprehend, probably, which maybe means he will never tire of musing about him.

Finally, after kicking some clothing into the closet and putting on football shorts and an old shirt with a hole in the shoulder, he leaves his room to make himself some coffee. The thing about Colin, he's finally concluded, is that he just insinuates himself into situations, quietly, slyly, with his cotton t-shirts and his knit caps when it gets chilly. Bradley is not feeling benevolent, he is in a real what-if mood, realizing that anything could be more than it seems.

"Sneaky, Morgan," Bradley mutters as he enters the kitchen. "That's what you are."

Colin is there, and at the sound he pauses, caught in the middle of a motion that may-or-may-not have been the tossing of an empty yogurt cup into the rubbish bin from the wrong angle.

"Pardon?" he says. But then his mobile rings, and he answers it. "Hi, mum."

Another thing about Colin is that he is close to his parents. Bradley goes to the freezer to retrieve the coffee grounds. He pats Colin on the back as he wanders past and Colin laughs simultaneously, perhaps at something his mother's said, it's unclear. His hair is sticking up on one side, like he's only just gotten off the sofa.

"I'll be home Sunday evening," he explains, stepping out into the living room. As Bradley puts on the coffee pot and then peels a banana, he watches Colin move about the room, picking things up, running his fingertips over the edges of the television and photo frames distractedly. "Yes, that's tomorrow. I'll be flying into Cork and staying there for the week before visiting you all."

"Cork," Bradley repeats, like "Carrk" and Colin looks over briefly.

They have coffee over heady conversation, in which Colin prods slowly at Bradley's overnight resolve to distance himself. Bradley just doesn't want to be disappointed. He hates being disappointed.

"How do you feel about Rose, then?" Bradley asks, out of nowhere but it's a fair question.

"As in...?" Colin says.

"As in the Doctor's companion," Bradley says. "Blonde, you know, nice smile? You've been in the show, Colin, come on."

"Oh, she's alright, yeah," Colin says. He frowns. "Are we talking about girls, then?"

"And the new companion?" Bradley grills him. "Karen Gillan, ginger. You say you don't like gingers, but I think you protest a bit too much."

"Um," Colin says. "She's got good facial expressions, a real good actress as far as I can tell, but I'll always be a fan of Catherine Tate, of course."

Bradley remains unaccountably suspicious, which really isn't fair, but. Well.

"Run," Bradley says, surprising himself, maybe not surprising Colin.

"Alright."

He uselessly scans the room for his trainers. "I'm going for a run."

"Yeah, well you do that," Colin says. He goes to the sofa again, sits with his legs under him. "I'm not allowed to go out." He looks pointedly at the window, at the half-hearted sunlight that just manages to give an impression of Spring.

"You went out just yesterday," Bradley points out.

Colin shrugs, and then sends an angelic smile his way that seems to say "this is for you, Bradley Jeems."

"You're right, the pale jokes will never get old," Bradley informs him. "Never. I'll be back in an hour. We're meant to be there at six, yeah?"

He starts his run the moment he leaves his flat. He takes off before he has even realized and by the time he's passing the first street corner he can feel sweat beading, only to cool instantly at the back of his neck and behind his knees. His muscles unwind comfortably.

Daylight goes ambling by; Bradley isn't running too fast, treating it as more of a dedicated jog. At a few points he's going so slow that someone's gramma could walk faster than him. He's that guy.

He thinks about the showing tonight, and experiences that complex emotion that is a co-mingling of trepidation and tentative pride. Disaster: it could be impending. But it also might not be. There's no time better for total honesty than on a run. He runs nearly every day, now. It is like a self-imposed practice in honesty, daily. He is lusting and longing after Colin Morgan.

When Bradley gets back, he finds that Colin has done the dishes, which, true, had been piled before Colin had even arrived. He has also ordered Indian.

"The delivery guy recognized me," Colin tells him when he comes to let him in. "Well, first he asked if I'd been in his athletics class, and I said no, and he asked how he knew me, so I told him I was a warlock on a BBC show. If I leave off the BBC bit I just sound a bit foolish, I've found."

Colin seems irresistible waiting here for him, telling him this story. If he were around all the time, Bradley would be the audience for many more vignette-style updates. Also, Colin is the only one of his friends who really gets it, this being in Merlin. How it feels more like a game than work, and then later, when he considers the fact that this is what small-time fame feels like, the show becomes an abstraction. He is sitting there, looking up at Bradley through his dark fringe of eyelashes and Bradley ruffles his hair, just a bit.

Now is a good time for a shower. In fact, he really needs one.

Under the pounding of the water, he makes conjecture after uninformed conjecture about his future interactions with Colin's date whom he'll meet in just over four hours - he sees already how they will be put in some position which requires them to speak with each other for an extended period of time, when Colin has been dragged away to speak with someone or is off in the loo. Bradley will depend heavily on his default conversational style. He will graciously offer to introduce her to people, and ask about her family, never allowing for awkward silences but somehow also maintaining an aura of calm and aloof. Maybe Colin will have talked to her about Bradley, perhaps she'll have watched the show. The more the better. He wants to think that he's the bigger person.

What Bradley really wants is for Colin to stay in London. He sees no reason why he shouldn't. Neither of them have anything tying them to any one place; they're not working aside from Merlin and they don't live near their families. And besides, everyone wants to live in London.

Bradley's feeling childish, and knows that he wouldn't know what to do with Colin if he did stay, but Bradley imagines how it would go anyways. Colin would live with him, of course, and they would just explore the city together, hitting up wine bars and museums, and sampling the underground music scene. More often than not they would stay in at night, watching every zombie movie ever created. It would be an exhausting lifestyle, but euphoric.

When he finally gets out of the shower he looks at himself in the mirror, wetted hair and set jaw. He is the very picture of resolve.

Colin is calmly finishing off the first carton by the time Bradley has cleaned up and put on clothing. There are at least four sauces, one of them yogurt, the best sauce, and Colin is dribbling them haphazardly all over his food from the looks of it. Bradley is similarly juvenile, his sauce habits bearing the signs of a novice. He briefly considers searching out a plate, but then Colin says, "If you don't hurry, I'm going to finish this off."

"Brutal, Morgan."

They have a minor scrabble for the last bit of naan, overly physical and ending only when Colin's hands are secure behind his back, color light across his cheeks - and no, the shower hasn't helped.

 

~

The party takes place in a lush hotel in downtown London. This is not a red carpet affair. There are no limos or paparazzi with flashbulb cameras, there aren't any actors that Bradley's going to be introduced to. The only people on the list are Merlin cast and crew, plus guests, so - comfortable. All of them are excited when they enter the lift that will take them to the top floor, like kids, like people who can't believe the things they're allowed to do because they work in television.

The lift opens up onto a good-sized ballroom which in turn has doors along its perimeter that open out onto balcony boxes, windows hung heavy with sumptuous cream and gold drapery. The entire room is gold and cream, in fact, and those guests who have already arrived are rendered exquisite by proximity. Bradley sees The Julians by the long _hors d'oeuvres_ table, loading up miniature plates with prosciutto and crackers. The men are in fancy-casual, with unscuffed shoes and skinny ties painting stripes down their Armani shirts. Peoples' girl friends and wives, some of them known to him and some not, are standing in groups, complimenting each other on their evening gowns. In short, they all look radically transformed after tramping around Welsh forests in ripped jeans or faux medieval wear.

There is a lot of silk and chiffon in general, and Bradley notices this all, taking it in as secondary information, searching out Angel, because he has just had the most tense ride in the lift of his life.

They had waited for this mysterious person, this temptress, in the foyer, Colin and he greeting the few stragglers they knew going past them to the lifts, calling, 'We'll be up in a mo.' They were late themselves, of course, due to Colin's liberal treatment of time. Bradley had been dressed and talking to the driver of the car, telling him that yes they'd be down in a few minutes, yes they had said that five minutes ago, and no the driver was not to be faulted if they arrived late. He wasn't stressed about the time, not really, but this is why he was so taken aback when the Date, as Bradley had taken to calling her in his head, hadn't even arrived yet.

"You don't need to wait with me, Bradley," Colin had said, leaning against the front desk with his pointy elbows poking out from fashionably-rolled shirt sleeves. He looked expensive, artfully mussed hair and huge lips, and there was no way in hell Bradley was leaving him for one moment to this alleged girlfriend or otherwise. He pursed his lips and Colin just shrugged, so Bradley had continued flirting with the concierge.

Much to Bradley's chagrin, Colin's girlfriend looks nothing like a _Doctor Who_ companion.

Instead, Colin's girlfriend looks strikingly similar to James McAvoy, which makes more sense than one would think because _she_ is actually a guy Colin met in sixth form and ran into again, as he said, when he was back home.

His handshake is firm and his eyes kind, and he says, "It's nice to meet you, Bradley Jeems," sounding like Colin, but not, and he is far, far too attractive for Bradley's peace of mind.

It rankles.

 

~

Angel is found by the fruit platters, which include strawberry halves and chocolate-dipped banana spears arranged in modern piles on three-tiered cupcake stands. When Bradley gets to her through the crowd he takes one of her hands in his own and leans down fractionally to kiss her cheek. He doesn't move after this, however, and stays with a hand softly at her neck to whisper: "Angel, we have a big problem, please laugh like I've said something hilarious."

She puts a hand around his bicep, and tilts her head back to laugh uproariously, inelegantly, and he loves her for it. He then kisses the back of her hand, and steps back marginally, not faking the fond smile.

"What is it, Bradley?" she manages to grind out through a bright smile of her own, without moving her mouth. Her eyes are searching and he does not let go of her hand. They are the picture of friendship, he imagines, two young people, happy to see each other and compliment each other on their finery.

"Colin's date," he mutters, and then laughs loudly. He finally lets go so that he might fleece a grape bunch of all its fruit from off of the silver platter closest to him, popping them in his mouth indelicately one by one. Angel searches the room without turning her head too obviously and then gasps, "Oh my _god_ Bradley, he's...I mean..."

"No, it's not the faun, if that's what you're thinking," he tells her. He peers over to where Colin is smiling shyly and introducing the Date to Anthony Head. "Although it's a close thing. Look at those groomed sideburns."

"The faun?" Angel says, tilting her head a bit for another look.

"Yes, Mr. Tumnus," Bradley continues through a mouthful of fruit. "The half man half beast in _Narnia_. McAvoy is his name, although this one's not Scottish, he's Irish. Old school chums, they tell me."

"Bradley, you look ill, are you alright?" Angel says. He drags his eyes away from the scene, to look back into her worried face.

"Yes, just fine," he says, realizing he is acting rude all at once. "I've spoken with him, just now. We took the lift. Twenty floors, Angel. There was a lot of smiling, between the two of them, like they were very happy to see one another."

"Well, they probably are," she says. She picks up her drink from the table. "Are you surprised that he's with a man, Bradley, is that what this is? Because honestly you look like you're about to be sick."

"No," he laughs, mirthlessly. "Well yes, I was initially surprised, but now. No, it's not what you think. Really, honestly. Although maybe that does make it worse."

He trails off, and Angel looks at him shrewdly.

"He is rather attractive," she says. "Is that was this is all about. Are you feeling threatened? Because if you're upset that Colin's found a lovely date, then that leads me to believe-"

Bradley holds up a hand.

"Before we have this conversation I'm going to need some sort of beverage. Honestly, Coulby." Which is all but admitting everything, but suddenly Bradley can't be arsed to care. It is so hard to talk yourself down when something so dramatic as this has occurred. He is likely to say something rash. Recognizing this helps calm him a bit, and he takes steadying breaths as Angel leads him to the bar.

"You really are, the most incredible friend, Angel," he sighs. She hands him a glass of chardonnay. "And might I say, you look ravishing in yellow."

He toasts her and takes a sip from his glass. She does a small curtsy.

"Why thank you for noticing." She sounds pleased. "It was between this or lavender, a sort of homage to Gwen. She's the one who got me here, really."

"Following that logic, I should be wearing red," Bradley says. "Or blue...his date is wearing blue."

He looks over again at the guy Colin's brought. He is dressed in tight, navy trousers, a white button-down, and a trendy jacket that makes him look like some kind of very well-dressed indie kid who has connections, maybe a rich patron of the arts who will fund his side projects: photography or maybe video production. "Slumming it in the cafes of Dublin" or some similar documentary.

Oh, and now he's been introduced to John Hurt, Great Dragon esq. This will not do, really, because, while Bradley may be in awe of many of the older actors in their time, a real fanboy actually, John Hurt is one of Bradley's favourites. Having the opportunity to work alongside both Anthony Head and John Hurt sent him into cartwheels for weeks after he found out, and although he's rarely spoken to John Hurt as he's got no scenes in the cave, he often notices him from afar, eating lunch with Richard usually.

Bradley doesn't exactly begrudge Colin for spending so much time with the elderly man, but he cannot wait until Arthur finally has a full scene with the Great Dragon. But now here is Mr. Somethingorother, already on speaking terms. Bradley cannot take his eyes off of him, ready to complain to Angel. He'll take back all the mean things he may have called her, like hussy or loser, he really will.

"Look at him," he tells her, at a loss really.

"Oh, Bradley," Angel says, but her voice seems far off.

It's just that this guy seems so unassuming, speaking with Tony and John Hurt and refusing a canape offered by a passing waiter. He's probably a good person. He probably works with animals and eats garden burgers with no cheese, and is able to make Colin Morgan the type of salad that he deserves, not some drippy mess of iceberg lettuce and carrots like Bradley did the last time Colin stayed with him.

He is about to share this with Angel, to explain out of guilty resignation how he's changed his mind, how he sees now that Colin could do much better than him, who is he kidding? Just because someone wants someone, with some dull aching somewhere mid-chest region, doesn't necessarily mean that he deserves anything, when he is interrupted.

"He's like Lancelot," Arthur realizes out loud, nodding his head at the guy.

Angel frowns at him, uncomprehending, but then from behind he hears: "Hey, Bradley!"

It is Rupert - "Ah, Sir Leon cleans up nicely I see," he'd remarked the first time they'd had any occasion to spend time together outside of work - and Bradley is ecstatic to see him.

"Looking fit, Mate," Bradley says. Rupert nods, as if this is his due. He claps the man on the shoulder. "What trouble have you been getting yourself into since I last saw you?"

"You know, the usual," Rupert says. He adjusts his purple silk tie and tries to seem contrite, repentant for what he's about to admit, but it just comes off looking pleased. He mutters: "Might have, ahem, boughtmyselfalamborghini."

"What was that?" Bradley cups a hand to his ear, although he's caught it, he really has, and he can't believe it. "Bought yourself a wha'??"

"It's flashy," Rupert says, looking at his shoes, as if that's a bad thing. "It's overly indulgent, and black, shiny, with a dark leather interior and she's so smooth, Bradley. I spent all this morning stroking her. I almost didn't make it here in time, I just- I couldn't-"

At some point Angel's left to refill her glass, and Bradley moans in jealousy as Rupert slides out his iphone to show off his new car.

"You know, you only had the one line 1st season," he tells Rupert. "At what point did you get this cocky?"

"Bradley, I highly recommend this. I'll take you for a ride. You'll see. I'm in London for the next few days." He hands Bradley his phone and Bradley puts down his drink to thumb through the pictures. "We'll do lunch, except we'll probably never make it to the restaurant - we'll just drive around the city, experiencing."

They toast to the car. It had taken Bradley until twenty two to even get his license - it had been too expensive and not at all important because he'd had a couple of casual girlfriends, and then friends, who'd been willing to take him where he needed to go. This isn't the country, this isn't America, you can get around just fine on public transport, but now, after seeing these photos, he really wants a car. He has mainly been saving his earnings, not really thinking about the money. He was comfortable, he was grateful, until now.

"Thanks, Rupert," he says, scoffing. "Now I know what a large chunk of series three is going towards."

One of the camera crew is quick to join them, somehow scenting that they're talking cars. Bradley hasn't even had the food, really, hasn't even had half his drink. Angel comes back with her cousin, Bryan, who joins them as well. They are a party in and of themselves, the cool kids by the fruit table, all with phones in hand and gesturing widely, passing round the enthusiasm like normal people do Jagermeister.

The camera guy, Thierry (French!), describes the engine in some particularly yummy way and then opens his wallet to share the picture within, wedged where other people might carry a photo of their pet or significant other.

"You must be joking," Bradley breathes, feeling his heart yammer a bit. Rupert hides a sob behind his drink and they both just look and look. It's the sexiest car Bradley's ever seen. "God have _mercy_."

"Pardon?" comes a voice.

"Oh not you, McGrath." He looks away from the screen for a moment to where Katie has come up next to them. Beside her is Johnathon Rees-Meyers.

"I've got a motorcycle," Johnathon Rees-Meyers offers.

"I'm sure you do," Bradley tells him, and motions him further into their group.

"This is Johnathon," Katie says, because introductions must be made. She makes them, but no one's listening too hard.

"Boys and their cars," she sighs, as Angel comes to her side. "Can't even be bothered to say hello, can you?"

Bradley knows for a fact that Angel's about as interested in this as he is, but he supposes its a shameful thing for females. He could wonder if that comment was sexist, but instead he takes the time to shake Johnathon's hand, and then Bryan's.

"Welcome," he says to them. "Glad you could make it."

"You look lovely, Katie," Colin says, also having gravitated their way. Bradley looks her over for the first time, and notices that _yes_, she does look rather good. The problem with hanging around the television types is that people like them are paid to look good. It's not egotistical, more the fact of the matter. He hadn't realized before all this, but acting, if you make it big, is a good way to meet beautiful, well-off women.

Katie is resplendent in a pink thing that is square at the neck and falls heavy to the floor, with an abstract chain and bauble business about the neck. She and Angel might have even coordinated their dresses to match, in fact. They are both of them absolutely stunning, Bradley sees he must be taking things for granted, he really has been, spending his time with two modern-day princesses and not even noticing.

Is he sexist? He frowns to himself, wondering what his mother would say.

"Colin!" Katie says, and meets his date without no discernible surprise. "Pleased to meet you."

"So what have I missed?" Colin asks, bumping shoulders with him and shaking the hands of those he doesn't know.

"You know, talking shop," Bradley says to Colin, Colin who instantly takes him on this one saying, "You don't have a shop, Bradley."

Bradley turns to grace him with a look, like 'Why did I ever let you run off' and takes the napkin from him that he's been twisting in his hands.

"I was just speaking with John," Colin tells him, raising his eyebrows, like Bradley's love is a conspiracy theory not just common knowledge.

"I noticed."

"I introduced him to Jill Trevellick as well, she's there."

"The casting director?" his date asks.

"Yes," says Colin, then looks back to Bradley. "She said you were looking fit and I made sure to tell them that your mother chose your clothing."

"Charitable of you," he says. "My mother did choose it for me."

"I know, that's why I said it. She has good taste."

"My mum likes you as well, Colin," Bradley says. "She sometimes wonders why you don't phone her or send her signed pictures of herself so she can brag to her friends at work, or at least hang them over her desk."

"Are we still talking about me, here?"

And if their back-and-forth feels a bit forced, it is clearly due to the existence of this plus-one. He's just standing there, looking - and Bradley is being frank here, in his own mind - really gorgeous, especially standing next to Colin, they both seem to bring out the features in each other. They seem to fit. It's kind of making him freak out a little, like maybe he needs to go out onto one of the balconies for some air, just so it is not staring him in the face.

Bradley is aware that he might seem overly-defensive. But really, the way this guy had acted so comfortable in the lift and then up here, around so many people he doesn't know, has been setting off some sort of warning of the more subconscious kind and he is only now putting it together. The facts are as follows: people who don't worry are confident, and those who are confident usually have a reason to be confident. This guy's known Colin for years, and is obviously important enough to be date-material. He must be a past fling, of some sort. Bradley's mind shies away from the word 'boyfriend.'

"What do you do, then?" Jonathon R-M asks, addressing Colin's date, and now Bradley James has made his judgment of the actor, and it is a favourable one.

"I'm a doctoral student," he says, and people make humming noises, like 'ah, I've heard of that.'

"Of chemistry," the guy continues, and the awe-level is apparently proportional to the amount he speaks.

Colin nods, totally there, looking quietly pleased, stood just behind his friend's shoulder in the gold lights of the ballroom, people shoving past them, heading towards the food table and away from it.

There is something to that, something attractive about a man who...what do those who study chemistry do, exactly? Mix...things? There's something attractive in scholarly pursuits, in any case, and mentioning them in an offhanded manner. And perhaps Colin likes the studious type. If so, Bradley's appeal has probably been steadily decreasing due to the Chuck Palahniuk novels he has been reading lately, or the torn and obviously well-read copy of Orson Scott Card's _Ender's Game_ sitting by the sofa at his flat. Who _doesn't_ like that book, though, really?

There was a time during a screening like this one, during first series, when Colin and Bradley were newly minted, their friendship unsmudged by the likes of dates and breaks between series. Bradley doubts the idea of an open bar will ever lose its charm, but at that point especially they were completely blown away, and they spent most of the night lounging at a circular table pretending to be James Bond-esque secret agents, speaking calmly, making up coded terms on the spot and raising their voices so people would hear when they walked by. He doesn't feel that much older now, but there is a chance that the others do, that Colin has moved on, their 007 days firmly in the past.

This guy's nice - there is no denying that. They all talk for a long while and it is good, it really is, everyone laughing and discussing everything, from how this first episode is going to look in its final edited version to shenanigans in drama school to unfortunate allergies. These are the type of people who are possessed of a certain energy, some vivacity that Bradley feels honored to be included in. Bradley's told these people some of his stupidest moments and, well, they are still here. In fact, some of his more recent have been with these people themselves.

The only point of tension is when Bradley accidentally notices minutiae, mainly to do with Colin's personal space and how it is being violated. A hand at the elbow, just for a moment, so quick Bradley could be mistaken but he knows he's not, or a darting glance. Colin is usually such a private person, that's the thing, but here is this friend from his past, and Bradley can't kick the image of Colin Morgan, seventeen-years-old and uncertain, allowing this person to press him against all manner of things: bookshelves, lampposts, cars. They've probably gone swimming together, and taken long drives. It's like a horrible film being played, and Bradley's got a great imagination, and he eventually has to stop looking in that direction altogether. He spends a good five minutes chiding Angel, dragging her from an intelligent political discussion. It's just better not to watch.

He thinks maybe he should go speak with Tony, give his regards, but then there is a mention of some incident by a lake and Colin actually flushes at the mention of this. It is a riveting sight to behold, the way he clenches his jaw a bit and tries to look away like this hasn't affected him, but how it obviously has. Bradley begins snacking on nearby vegetables.

But the subject is quickly dropped, and Colin's fallen into conversation with Rupert who, like Bradley, seems to really enjoy needling him. In an unspoken way, he and Bradley have bonded over this, and during breaks on set they often verbally spar over Colin's head until he'd finally puts his music on pause and joins the conversation. Rupert's older, but that doesn't mean he can't devise ingenious pranks.

For how much he talks, and how exuberantly, Bradley has never been great at speaking candidly about anything to do with sentiments. In fact, there are some who might argue he does his best to avoid such conversations and so it is with great dissatisfaction that he notes this new guy's proficiency. He is speaking with Rupert, and just, well, just telling him things, calmly mentioning subjects Bradley wouldn't touch with people he had just met and not appearing overly self-indulgent or -centered.

Bradley has got to step up his game. If he hadn't impressed the guy in the lift with his semi-fame and strong jaw, it's possible that he will not be too overcome by meeting film star, post-heroin-chic Jonathon Rees-Meyers. But he doesn't know about JRM's motorcycle. It's like a secret weapon.

"Colin and his mate are flirting like _hell_," Katie observes before wandering off with Bradley's secret weapon.

And then Colin leaves them for a moment, too, muttering something about five minutes and just walking away. Bradley can sense the other guy's hesitance.

"He wanders off a lot," Bradley tells, nodding minutely at where Colin is walking away. "You just kind of have to wait for him to come back."

"Is that how it is, then?" they guy asks him. Bradley is pleased he does not know already.

"How are you liking the party?" Bradley asks.

They guy shrugs. "Not bad," he says, accepting a glass of 50pound champagne. "The food looks good, and the company's alright, so."

"Not _bad_!" Bradley cries. Rupert casts him a look. "Not bad! Look over here, we've got, well...finger sized vegetables!" He gestures moderately, toned down because of their surroundings, but not by much. "Cucumbers with some sort of herb sprinkled on them and, you know, stuffed mushrooms if you like that sort of thing. Miniature hot dogs!"

The guy shrugs, and then smiles sweetly at Bradley, kind of lopsided.

"Sure, sure, I'm impressed," he says, like he's humouring him. Bradley shakes his head in disbelief and continues: "Carrots...little desserts down that way, past the quiche."

There's quite a lot of dancing for a party advertised as a screening.

Bradley's taken it upon himself to dance with every female in the room, because it is flattering, one, and also it is something he can get away with, something expected. People like to see the youth acting foolish. It's a testament to being alive: a ruffly, swirly testament. Also, he doesn't think he can bear watching Colin anymore, how he has been alternatively flushing and cracking up all night, like this guy knows just which heartstrings to pull.

But on a break between songs he does go to stand with Rupert, Colin, and date. Said newcomer is standing quietly by as Rupert discusses method acting with Colin. It is not a new topic, but consistently engaging. Rupert once spent a weekend eating, sleeping, and carousing as a knight, marching down the cobbled streets of the town around Pierrefonds, and generally molesting the locals with his good-natured calls for ale. He had invited Bradley out with him, but Colin was the one who had gotten dragged into it, affecting an English accent for the entire week.

"When word got round, we got given a lecture on intercultural relations," Rupert says. "And for a while, Wardrobe kept close tabs on my chain mail.

"'Where are you going with that hauberk, Rupert!'"

"'No lance poles at the pub, take it back to Mary at Props!'"

"It's royalty next time, Morgan. You, too, Bradley." Rupert looks meaningful at the both of them. "Capes and doublets."

"I do have my own crown..." Bradley agrees. "But no, Rupert, I will not be led into yet another of your acts against the public. You may parade around town, dressed like a king. As for myself and Colin, we will be a bit more subtle, we -"

"Subtle," Colin's date says, like he can't believe it. Bradley looks over at him. "He didn't used to be, that's all I'm saying."

Colin flushes again, and puts his hands in his pockets. "If you're going to bring up that embarrassing-"

"Which time? That's all I'm saying."

"What do you say we just drop this line of questioning," Colin says.

It goes on.

"You're doing well on the Irish comments," Colin says sometime around 9 o'clock, holding a little cup full of celery sticks.

"The night is young!" Bradley responds. He has been chatting up Tony's girlfriend while simultaneously inner-monologuing. "Also I'm outnumbered. Four of you lot against one."

There are a lot of English people, it's true, but not one of them would side with him over Colin. They both know this, and Bradley would propose some sort of joining of forces against some weaker, more sheep-ridden country, but he knows that jokes against the Welsh are so 2002. Also, it would be racist.

They are all rather exhausted once is finally time for the screening. They all sit in rows while the lights dim. Bradley chooses a seat between Katie and Angel, because they are actually the most amusing to watch episodes with. Katie squeals a lot and Angel giggles. Sitting with Colin would be hell. He never can seem to keep his hands to himself, picking at Bradley's sleeve and whispering into his ear so Bradley can't catch the dialogue. It's distracting, although somehow Bradley always ends up going to films with him anyways.

A hush falls over the crowd. There is a fuzzing sound, and then it begins.

The episode opens at evening in Camelot. In the castle, Arthur is patting Merlin down, as if Merlin's got magic paraphernalia in his pockets, scarves and the like.

"Where are you hiding it, _Mer_lin?" Arthur says, sounding dangerous, while Merlin tries to look innocent.

"I haven't got anything!" Merlin cries. He tries to move away from the roaming hands, and then Arthur says, 'aha!' and holds up a small sack he's found in his pockets. Merlin looks shifty.

"Oh, that." He smiles and shrugs, Arthur gives him a look like You are such an _idiot_. The episode has begun. It is some complex plot about love spells, again.

They'd engineered this interaction themselves, running lines in the shade of the castle while extras and camera people rushed around in the distance. The whole thing coming about when Arthur'd intoned "We'll see about that, Merlin" and robotically patted him on the side to indicate 'searching.'

Everybody is so happy to see their project completed. They all laugh through the entire first part.

Colin and his date are on the other side of Katie, but somehow this doesn't pose any sort of obstacle. Twenty minutes in, during a sword fighting scene, Colin's reaching across Katie's lap to tap Bradley's arm, to whisper, "Remember the weird bird we saw?" And Bradley snickers.

He realises something then, that even if Colin's seeing someone else, even if he has some unbreakable bond and inside jokes from when they were small, he and Colin will always have this: early mornings driving out to set, the both of them slumped in the van over their too-hot coffee, and televised films of Bradley whacking Colin on the backside with a prop sword.

He can give away this little bit of Colin. He can be an adult about this, someone who knows when to fight for something and when to give up for the sake of a friend's happiness. Bradley knows next to nothing about this other guy, but he does know that Colin has history with him. Colin and Bradley have only got two years together...who is he to feel so entitled?

Bradley slumps a little in his seat under the weight of this decision, leaning towards Angel because she is so often his rock. After this he'll invade her flat with an armful of action films and just lie there for a month at least, wrapped in a blanket and working out his feelings in a safe, non-emotionally compromising way. There will be waffles involved, and Angel might see through him but all she'll say is, 'Bradley, pass the syrup,' and Bradley will know that Colin Morgan is happy in his country, with his celebrity-lookalike.

But this resolution isn't worth anything. It's _nil_, it's crackers, it's other dry empty things in comparison to this:

The way Merlin's gaze holds Arthur's during the final scene of the episode- Bradley remembers the feel of Colin's shoulder where he was gripping it firmly - it's like Arthur is all he wants in the world, he'd rather die than leave his side, and that's a direct quote. Bradley maintains composure, as he always does when confronted by the sight of himself on screen, but Colin shifts a few seats over, and bites at his finger. Bradley sits up a little, a pain in his neck.

Katie is sighing next to him, but besides that the room is completely still, all attention captivated by this unlikely pouring out of emotion. Of course Colin is not the only one implicated here - the way Bradley is looking at him on that screen is telling enough, it's mutual adoration cracked open and exposed up there, clear as day, for all to see. It does not look like acting. This is...unexpected.

There is a giant round of applause when the credits jump to screen, and Bradley feels kind of shell-shocked, wondering what Colin's thinking. He looks over briefly, and Colin smiles at him, and claps along with the rest of them. Bradley kind of wants to punch him in the arm and say something like, 'How gay was that, am I right?' but that would be in poor taste, probably. He laughs aloud.

And to make things worse, what follows is not lights on, but a shorter video, and everyone takes their seats once again. It is a mash of behind-the-scenes moments that are quite candid, actually, beginning with a near-silent clip that lasts about a minute, in which Katie tries surreptitiously to take Angel's script. Angel, unknowing, turns again and again and each time, Katie withdraws unnoticed. Finally Katie manages, long enough to scribble something at the top, and Angel shrieks the next time she picks it up.

The film picks up speed. There are long-shots of sword fighting bloopers and a bit featuring Bradley trying to learn origami with the child who plays Mordred, and a whole series of Anthony Head making faces out Uther's chamber window.

It is ten minutes long, and by the end of it half the audience is in hysterics, half in tears, and the film terminates on a close-up of Colin's face, up his nose really, saying, "Yeah, here we are. Camelot."

Bradley's resolve has been completely shattered. Only ten minutes, and already he is feeling new ownership over Colin Morgan. He may have to fight for him. He is thankful for his lessons in the art of swordscraft.

When the lights come up, nothing really needs to be said: the episode was fantastic. The short film had torn everyone's hearts to shreds.

People are clapping backs and pumping hands, and Bradley wants to hug everyone and maybe cry a little, were it not unmanly and thus off-limits. Instead he puts an arm around Colin's shoulders, and then kisses Katie on the cheek a few times until she shoves his face away and calls for Angel. He sends an apologetic look Colin's date's way, as if to say _I like you, but unfortunately I may have to kill you_.

The upwelling of emotion is felt by all, and conversations verge on maudlin because damn if it wasn't clear that they had made the right choice taking on this show, it is now. The music picks up again.

They have drinks to celebrate a job well done and people linger a bit after that, for a few hours, but soon it is midnight and the crew have packed up the projector and the chairs have folded themselves away into some cupboard.

There are handshakes and hugs. Bradley doesn't feel like he has done much work at all, nothing to warrant this sort of congratulation. He isn't a writer, nor was he manning the camera or creating the set, but it would ruin this show of camaraderie, he can sense that, if were to say this. It would make him an asshole.

They have more drinks to celebrate.

It is probably time to go. Bradley realises this a few times but somehow finds himself leaning against a balcony over the city, alongside Katie and John Hurt, with Colin near tucked against his side because _hey_ space is short out here and Bradley is willing to rationalize anything. He is currently leaning out to see past Katie, one hand cupped around Colin's elbow, and he hears himself admitting embarrassing truths to John, which means it is probably time to go, yes.

"I sometimes have dreams of spending time with you," he tells the Great Dragon. The man expels a curling plume of cigar smoke, and illusion along with it. "You made a creepy Olivander, a brilliant Olivander, and I sometimes have dreams that you're helping me choose a wand."

He can sense Colin rolling his eyes, and Katie says to John Hurt, "This is not the first time he's spoken about this, it's not just the drink talking."

"Colin, hey, Colin."

"Yes, Bradley."

Bradley is experiencing a moment of clarity. Colin is his best friend in the world, and so is every one else currently present. The city around them - the thin strip of street with its ten racing cars and passengers, the well-trod pavement, the hotel opposite made of shiny windows - all of it is the sparkling backdrop of their glorious lives.

"Let's go inside now."

"Alright then." Colin doesn't care.

When they end up indoors again it is to find Angel discussing poetry with Colin's date, who is of course well versed even in this, but Bradley is feeling victorious, kind of on top of the world, actually, even if Colin _is_ still planning on going home with this guy. Together they've made art. There is nothing that can replace that sort of creation.

Bryan is with Jon RM nearby, drinks in both their hands, and Jonathon, that motorcycle-riding god, is saying, "Drink deep, friends," raising his glass in toast to all remaining guests. Bradley raises a glass he finds on a table, but Colin takes it from his hand before he has the chance to sip at it.

"You're crazy, Jonathon Rees-Meyers," Bradley says. He makes his way over to him, and repeats it. "Absolutely batty."

"Follow me on Twitter," JRM tells him seriously.

"I will," Bradley says, although he hasn't got a whositcalled. "I will, I will attempt, at least, to follow you."

JRM procures an indelible marker from somewhere and takes Bradley's hand in his. He pens slowly on the back, meticulously, his full name, followed by something illegible. The felt tip tickles and Bradley can hear Colin discussing what cabs to take back to peoples' flats and Johnny Capps saying, "Don't worry guys, of course the network's covering it. Really, it's no problem."

"Ah, I've been misplacing the 'h' in your name," Bradley says aloud, and Jonathon says kindly: "I do the same myself, sometimes."

"Thank you, Jonathon," Bradley says. He feels honoured. When they shake gravely, some sort of pact has been sealed.

"Follow me," Jonathon Rhys-Meyers says again, as Bradley walks backwards and away.

"You know it, Jonny," Bradley says and sends him a half-wave, more like a salute.

"I'll be seeing you next week, the both of you," Katie tells them at the doors to the lift. "You there, and Colin, you get him home safely, alright?"

The last glimpse of the party as it limns out through the crack in the closing door, is twenty or so stragglers milling about a luxurious room, and then they're alone, the three of them, once again in the lift but it isn't nearly so unbearable this time. There is still the quiet thrum of energy, and expectation, and Colin's date still enjoys chemistry and poetry, but Bradley now knows that this guy does not stand a chance.

"Amusing that she thinks either of us is any more sober than he is," Colin says quietly to his friend, who huffs a laugh and mutters, "As if you're ever sober, Morgan."

"Oh the Irish," Bradley says.

They've left the hotel and they are returning to the real world. This is especially apparent because it has started to mist down rain, and television stars _do not_ get stuck in the rain. Bradley is suddenly just a twenty-something hailing a ride home, and the cold is enough to sober a man. He shakes Colin's date's hand, conscious that he never learned his name and feeling the beginnings of relief, like maybe this means something good for him, karmically.

The two say their goodbyes at the curb and Bradley leaves them to it. He goes to the dark cab that is humming streetside.

"Just don't ask," Bradley tells the driver as he slips over the seat. He holds up a hand, and he can see the driver looking at him skeptically in the rearview mirror. "Just don't say anything. They may or may not be in love, but I've chosen not to think about that."

"I see," says the driver, although he obviously doesn't. It is a long hug and Bradley slumps down into the cushions, suddenly unsure again, tilting his head back against the headrest and wishing he had a blanket or hot chocolate or both right about now.

What is it about life, he wonders, that has the power to make him feel so old but then snap him back to fifteen and helpless, without warning.

He sneaks a look and sees that Colin's gone very still, like he is listening to an important message being said. When he speaks again, a frown is visible, starting from the furrow of his forehead and communicating itself all the way to his shoulders that raise a bit, half-defensively, and the way they're looking at each other is heart wrenching, like maybe at one point they really meant something to each other.

When Colin opens the door, he folds himself inside and the driver speeds off, trying to escape the tension of the moment.

"Well, that was fun," Bradley says as the cab skids around a corner. He can't seem to look anywhere but Colin, even shadowed as he is and bumping around in the back of the car. It feels like morbid observation, waiting to see what Colin's face might tell him although he knows it could be any number of unfortunate emotions, and he really would rather not know.

Colin continues to purse his lips in a half-frown. Being right doesn't feel as good as it should.

They sit in silence until the driver says, "So do you or do you not lo-" but Bradley cuts him off with a frantic, "So, Colin!"

Colin looks at him curiously, finally expressing something other than intense thought. When no follow up is forthcoming and the bumping of the road becomes soothing, he quietly slips his hand into Bradley's. Their palms lie together in the middle seat, kind of clammy, and he looks away, out of his window, until they are skating up to Bradley's building like a night bound train reaching its final stop.

The hike back up to the flat where Bradley lives is steep, and the yellow of the light when he turns it on is kind of dull and uncomfortable. Colin's features seem once again too thin in the low glow.

He takes his jacket off, and throws it over something. He's not soaking wet, just uncomfortably chilled. He goes to turn on the heater, and then grabs a few blankets.

"You can take the-"

"Sofa, I know, I was here last night remember?" Colin had released his hand at the front door, but Bradley imagines he can still feel the heartbeat in his palm.

Colin turns, and picks up a pillow. His jacket lies abandoned over an stale cup of orange juice. "And you can get that look off your face, I'm not going anywhere."

"What look?" Bradley asks. He dumps the blankets onto the sofa.

He knows what look - he can feel it tugging down at the corners of his mouth right now, uncontrollably. Colin touches him there with two fingers, turning so that they're nearly chest to chest, only a pillow clutched between them. "This look."

This is weird.

Bradley is very aware of the situation suddenly, how they had just seen the successful commencement of Series 3 of their very own television show, and how he had allowed that glow of achievement to mess with his head, make him think that this could be something.

But it's just them now, standing here alone, away from every other person who might define them. It's he and Colin, good friends, the best, but nothing more, not that it has to be. Bradley is suddenly exhausted, his head muddled. He wants to close his eyes but Colin is looking at him.

This is really weird.

"I've got a lot to learn," Bradley mutters instead, and rubs at his mouth with his own hand, wiping away the frown. But maybe this is the right thing to say, because Colin steps even further into his space, crowds into him and presses his face into Bradley's neck, the pillow dropping out and landing at their feet. He is warm and somehow dry-ish, and Bradley curls his arms around him uncertainly. His arms coil tighter as he waits for the moment to pass.

Colin leaves him only long enough to root through his suitcase and then go change clothing, a record time of five minutes, and that night they fall asleep together in Bradley's bed, curled near each other but not touching, like two peas in a pod.

 

~

Well, it's Sunday. From beneath his huge comforter, Bradley contemplates breakfast.

Colin is off getting them 'decent coffee,' he'd nudged Bradley awake to say so, and while he is away the sky opens up above London.

It is bucketing down, and Bradley calls Colin on his mobile to laugh at his misfortune and also to allow Colin to scorn his country the entire way home. He politely refrains from pointing out that Ireland is often far more wet than England and lets Colin have his rant. Through the earpiece, Bradley can make out the slush of cars passing quickly as they speed through puddles of oil-soaked rainwater, and when he opens the flat door it is to find Colin soaked to the skin and smelling odd, like liquid city. Bradley steps out of the way when Colin attempts to dry his hands on his shoulders, but of course he eventually lets him get close enough to rub a dry towel over, just for a moment, useless really, and then Bradley shoves him past the living room for a shower.

With the sound of the rain outside and running water the next room over, he attempts to fry some peppers - the yellow ones because they are the best peppers. He fries them and fries them, but the peppers are obstinate and just remain kind of slick and uncooked in pan, even after he turns the heat up to high. Then, in the two minutes he spends turning on his laptop and finding some socks, the peppers burn. They are reduced to a charred mass piled in one corner of the pan, but at least the eggs are alright, and he has bread in the cupboard if all goes wrong, and some canned beans.

He needs to open a window or something. It is too damn cold outside to properly air the flat, so much for that tentative stab at springtime. In fact it's like autumn out there, all over again. The smell of the burnt food is actually doing something to assuage feelings of morning-after nausea, like maybe if he sits still long enough and drinks a few more glasses of water he might make it through the day.

He grabs for his glass, but knocks a bowl of fruit instead. Consequently, every piece of fruit rolls off the counter, dropping like giant, wet hail onto the linoleum floor. He really needs to get more sleep next time, hopefully tonight.

Colin comes into the room a moment later. Finally having stripped himself of his sodden clothing, he looks much more himself, safely Colin, rather than a half-drowned creature that Bradley wants to hold on to. He pads through the living room in socks and over-sized garments, while Bradley looks back dumbly at the fruit.

"You're rather messy," Colin remarks, and sits at the table. Bradley raises an eyebrow as if to point out the hypocrisy, but Colin holds his gaze. It is as if he is trying to put it politely, as if he thinks-

"Now hang on!" Bradley says, taken aback. Bradley James? Messy?

He tucks in a rogue pocket, somehow inside-out, agitated. He sits down as well, and pours himself some juice. When he looks up, Colin is still giving him that face.

Colin looks pointedly to the oranges and pears on the ground near the sofa, as if this proves his point, and at the bananas which haven't rolled far from where they had fallen.

"Gravity, I mean," Bradley amends. "It happens, the dropping of..."

But instead of asking, he sighs and he gets them both food. They eat a breakfast of beans on toast and some runny egg on the side, and they drink Bradley's coffee which does taste sub par now that Colin's pointed it out, kind of sour, but hot, which may make up for the burnt taste.

"You really think I'm messy?" he finally asks.

"Yes, and you also blurt things out when you're nervous," Colin tells him. "But don't worry, most people take it as charming...I've chosen to do the same."

Charming! That's more like it. He will just have to ignore the rest, never take anything for granted. Call Angel to whine.

"I'll take what I can get," Bradley blurts out. And he would. Take what he could get.

 

~

Later, after Colin's left, Bradley will receive a photo in the post, an actual, glossy 4x6 from a fan, forwarded through his agent. It's the one he took on someone's camera at the signing, his and Colin's faces smooshed side-by-side and only partially in the frame.

Next time Colin comes for a visit, Bradley will try to hide it away but Colin will find it anyway.


End file.
